Conversations Over Chinese Food
by TheFanFictionAlchemist
Summary: Since that fateful night at the opera, Shilo Wallace's life has become something utterly surreal.A short reflective/conversation piece. Grilo,but very non-fluffy, I don't do fluffy Grilo.


**Title: **Conversations Over Chinese Food

**Disclaimer: **I am secretly Terrance Zdunich! And this pairing is total cannon in the upcoming Repo! 2, in which Shilo and Graverobber fall madly in love, run away together, and raise pet cockroaches.

What?

Fine, I'm not Terrance, and now that you mention it, yes that would be an awful movie.

**Rating: **I like the F- word, so R, cause I manage to use it quite a bit. Sorry if that damages the delicate sensibilities of any Repo! Fans. If any of you have sensibilities, delicate or otherwise.

**Pairing: **Grilo, which I like precisely _because _it is such a messed up idea.

– –

"This is fucked up," Shilo murmured, using the complimentary wooden chopsticks to push the rice around in the Chinese food carton.

"You're fried rice is fucked up?" Graverobber smirked.

Shilo rolled her eyes, raising her gaze to look at him across the table. He had his feet on the table, like she absolutely hated, and his smirk was mischievous.

"No, not the fried rice," she replied, "_this._"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "You're going to have to be little more specific that that."

"Stop being a bastard," she muttered, "You know _exactly _what I'm talking about."

He chuckled, a deep, lovely sound, "Little girls shouldn't use words like that."

"I'm not a little girl," she replied, taking a bite of fried rice. This bite has meat in it, and she's not sure what it's supposed to be, or what it actually _is. _But there are more important things to do right now than evaluate questionable fast food.

"You're not," Graverobber agrees. He shoves a large bite into his mouth. "So kid," he says around it, "What's on your mind."

She's getting angry with him now, "You know what I'm talking about. You _live_ in my house."

"And thank you for that," he says, with a little nod, "Much more comfortable than my old place. Cleaner too."

"Your a drug dealer, and a graverobber."

"The Graverobber."

"I don't even know you name. And I'm eighteen. And, I have no idea how old you are," she finished.

He takes his feet of the table, and leans his elbows on it instead, pulling his chair in a bit. "I though you were grown up a minute ago. Now age is an issue?"

"You know what I mean," she falters, "We …"

"Fuck?" the smirk is bad, and it's infuriating, "And how is any of that less fucked up than the fact you spent seventeen years being daddy's little pet to dress up like a doll and compare to his dead wife, all the while with him poisoning you, and being the repo man?

Shilo goes silent then, partly from the sting in his words at bringing that up, partly because she now feel rather stupid for mentioning it in the first place. Graverobber watches her, still eating steadily till she can't stand it anymore. She gets up, scraping her chair noisily across the kitchen floor, and throwing away the remainder of her food, chopsticks and all.

"I would have eaten that," Graverobber says.

"It was already reheated," Shilo replies, "it wouldn't even have been good another day. You'd get food poisoning."

Graverobber smirks, and she almost can hear his unvoiced comment about all the things he's eaten from dumpsters, how he's sure some week old Chinese wouldn't kill him. Probably wouldn't, but if he's going to live in her house, he's not going to eat disgusting things anymore.

"I'm going to bed," she says, to make clear his lack of invitation. Not that he'd mind, he'd probably just sleep in her father's old room anyway, whenever he got back from selling Z.

"Kid," he calls after her.

"I'm not a kid."

"You're right, you're not," he answers, standing, "You're a grown up person, who's entitles to make her own decisions, even if they're stupid ones like letting me stay in her house, and expecting me not to steal anything."

He crossed the kitchen to stand behind her. She doesn't turn, or reply. She knows he won't steal anything, because he likes living somewhere warm that's not a dumpster far too much to get himself kicked out.

"And you know about as much about my age as I do. I'd put me around mid thirties."

Now she does turn, a bit of shock showing on her face. The implications of what he's just told her is not lost on her.

Only fair, with how her life's story had been aired on television for the world.

"And you know the only name I've answered to in along time."

He brushed past her,and she saw he was wearing his coat. Off sell Z to the whores and Amber and all the other people who visited strange men in dirty alleyways for hits of drugs extracted from the brains of the dead.

"And just because you're grown up, does not mean I have to stop calling you kid, kid."

With that comment he left, leaving her to go off to bed. She left her door open, just in case he felt like coming in later. She knew that was a lie, he'd be there when she woke up, no matter what, probably still smelling like dirt, and death, looking for sex, and she'd tell him off again for not showering after work.

And so would begin another surreal day in the life of Shilo Wallace.


End file.
